Page 41 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“Yes, when you were spying on me!” he snarls.
“I wasn’t spying—I just happened to overhear. It’s not my fault you chose to steal from the Queen.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake.
Dorian’s face darkens—his handsome features twisting into something ugly. His lip curls.
“How dare you, you little bitch! I am your husband—how dare you talk back to me?”
“You’re no proper husband to me,” I shoot back. “That’s why the Queen sent me to Xaren instead! Now let me be—I want nothing to do with you!”
I try to push past him, my breath catching in my throat, but Dorian lunges sideways and grabs a thick stem from one of the Bleeding Heart bushes. He snaps it free—long, curved thorns as thick as my thumb still clinging to the deep green cane.
He lifts it with a vicious smile.
“Raise your skirts,” he says, stepping toward me.
“What? No!” I back away instinctively, but he gestures sharply.
“Hold her.”
Two of the male Nobles lunge forward, grabbing my arms. I cry out and twist, but they’re stronger. Henri steps around behind me, lifting my skirts roughly. The fact that they’re split riding skirts makes his job easier—in short order I am horribly exposed.
I feel a chilly breeze blow over the skin of my bare thighs and shiver. I’m wearing nothing but a simple pair of cotton drawers underneath—thin and short, they barely cover me.
I burn with humiliation to be put on display like this. I twist and turn but the two that have me by the arms are stronger than they look. My heart is pounding frantically as I realize I’m trapped with no way to get free.
“Leave me alone!” My voice trembles. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Punishing you!” Dorian hisses, brandishing his rose-thorn cane. “As your husband, it’s my duty to keep you in line. I think a good whipping will keep that lying tongue silent for a while.”
He steps closer and brings the switch down hard.
There’s a whistling sound and a crack! The thorns tear into the tender flesh of my upper thigh, just below the edge of my drawers.
I scream in pain and twist harder against the arms of my captors.
Agony rips through me—bright and hot and shocking. My legs buckle, but the men holding me force me upright.
“Stop it! Let me go! Let me go!” I cry, tears streaming down my face as another lash lands, then another and another. The thorns bite into skin, snagging and tearing, ripping into my flesh mercilessly.
I struggle, but I can’t get free. I’m completely at their mercy.
“Look at the little bitch cry!” Dorian says and there’s a mean smile on his pretty mouth and satisfaction in his big, blue eyes. “Look at her squirm when she takes her punishment!”
There’s more laughter from the onlookers. Henri snickers in my ear, like this is all a delightful game.
And then?—
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The voice is low, deadly, and absolutely furious.
I lift my head, dazed from pain, and see Prince Xaren storming toward us.
His cloak flies behind him like black wings. His golden eye gleams like fire, and his steps are purposeful, full of controlled rage. One hand is already at the hilt of his sword.
He looks like a god of vengeance.
